Close to Where You Are
by loveadubdub
Summary: A thousand miles makes connecting really difficult, which is funny because he's never felt so connected to anything in his entire life... Sequel to Dreams, Disasters, and Everything In Between.


**CLOSE TO WHERE YOU ARE**

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, and Puck's got a dirty mouth, so be warned!

**...**

Twenty-two is a big year.

He graduates college for one, so there's the major. Not only graduates, but graduates a whole semester ahead of time thanks to the fact that extra classes gave him an excuse to never, ever spend even one summer back in Ohio. And yeah, he won't act like he's not proud of himself. A college degree is a big deal, and the fact that he's now sixty-thousand dollars in debt and has never even owned a new car doesn't really even faze him. Not until that six month grace period is up and the student loan bills start rolling in anyway.

A lot of bills start rolling in really, and he never seems to have enough money to cover them all. He realizes quickly that literally living paycheck to paycheck fucking _blows, _and he hates having to budget out pretty much every freaking dollar he makes. Sometimes, he just doesn't pay shit because he wants to spend that money for something else. That's irresponsible, he knows, but whatever. He spends all day long in a gym with bratty ass middle schoolers, so sometimes he _deserves _something that's not actually in his budget.

But yeah, life hits him pretty fast once he moves out of the frat house and into a boring apartment that somehow costs a lot more than it really should. And even though he only moves about twelve miles away, UMSL seems really, really far away.

He stays in St. Louis for really only one reason- he gets a job there.

That's it really. He knows people there, obviously, but a lot of his friends are heading off and it's not like he's got family there or anything. But he gets a job in a middle school teaching PE, so he takes it and officially declares himself a resident of St. Louis instead of just a college kid. The job's okay. Well, really it sucks. The kids are pretty much a mix of whiney girls and whack-ass punk boys who somehow all think they're really hot shit. But he gets to play assistant coach to the football team, and they're not really that awful so it's cool.

Still, people are always really amused when they find out he's a teacher.

But yeah, he's pretty much the coolest teacher in the school. It's mostly because he's young, but the kids all seem to like him because he sometimes forgets and calls them "bitch-ass little fuckers," which instead of pissing them off always makes them think he's awesome. And all the little girls have crushes on him and show up for PE with perfect hair and too much make-up. It's kind of funny, kind of not. Whatever, though, it's cool.

There's also the upside that being a male teacher is like an automatic panty-dropper for most women. They all think he's so sweet and amazing to want to work with kids and make their lives better and a bunch of other bullshit. Really, he only picked that major because it was the only one that let him spend full class periods working out and getting credit for it. He really doesn't give a crap about bettering kids' worlds or anything like that. Shit, he works at one of the richest schools in the city, so it's not exactly like those spoiled ass kids are hurting for iPods and Nikes.

He doesn't bring that up when he wants to get some play, though. He lets the chicks think what they want, and he doesn't correct them. He's not like a manwhore or anything, not like he used to be anyway. He doesn't have an agenda to fuck a different girl every night and never even know their name or anything like that. High school and college, a pregnant chastity queen and a couple of STDs cured all that, so he's a lot more careful now. Gonorrhea's one thing, but he's not down for Herpes or some of that other shit you can't get rid of with a few doses of antibiotics. And anyway, he's more mature than that now anyway. Or at least that's what he tells himself. He doesn't go out trolling for women too often, and when they happen upon him, he keeps it casual.

He's got a not-girlfriend that lives in New York and just happens to be kind of famous. She's not famous in like tabloids and shit, but if you Google her, a lot of shit comes up (so he's googled her a few times, so what?), and she's famous enough to sign autographs and get recognized sometimes. She's a full-time actress in one of the biggest shows on Broadway, so all that's pretty cool. He calls her his not-girlfriend because that's what she is. She's _not _his girlfriend because she's in New York City and he's in St. Louis, and there're about nine-hundred and fifty miles that make that just not doable. So he doesn't define her. She's not his girlfriend, but she's way more than a fuck buddy. She's his friend, but he doesn't really make a habit of singing lullabies to his friends or sending them _"I was just thinking about you" _texts.

So it's weird.

But she's his girl. Like if he was going to have one, she'd totally be it. Because she's kind of awesome in a semi-psychotic way. And she's smart and she's successful and she's totally cute. And by totally cute, he definitely means totally _hot. _Her body's banging, and she's rich enough now to use really expensive hair products and crap. She's pretty much as Type A as it's possible to be and wound super tight and shit, but if you know how to touch her (and he definitely does), she turns into a sneak freak. And that? Is awesome.

But the best part is that she knows him. Like she really knows him. They go way back, and she's literally seen him at his very worst. They've got history (together and separately), and all of it ain't that pretty. But she doesn't hold that against him, and he thinks that's what makes her the coolest chick he's ever known. It's certainly what keeps him up every night listening to her tell him about amazing crowds or missed notes. It's what makes talking with her til they both fall asleep something he's not only willing to do, but actually _likes. _He tells her his secrets, sometimes she sends him dirty text messages right in the middle of fourth period, and every couple of months, he skips his water bill and hops a plane to New York.

It's not a horrible set up.

One of those dirty text messages just happens to arrive right as he sends his kids off to the showers. (Well, he sends the boys off to the showers- he sends the girls to the locker room to put back on normal clothes and once again fix their lipgloss so they can shoot him totally creepy little smiles on their way out of the gym). The text message in question is enough to make him forget about the annoying ways of the seventh grade and take a seat on the bleachers instead of heading into the boys' locker room to scream at them to hurry the hell up. He's not really supposed to be texting during the school day, and he's very positive he's not supposed to be composing a message about his tongue and all the things he wants to do with it… but fuck it. He's a rebel at heart. Even as an authority figure.

The bell rings just as he hits send, and he knows he has to usher the little bastards off to history or art or English or wherever the hell they go next. He leans against the door of the gym doing "hall duty," which really means standing there being bored as a million kids fly from one place to another. A group of girls erupts into giggles as they pass by him, and he doesn't even _want _to know what's so damn amusing. His next class starts filtering by him on their way to the locker rooms, and one of his eighth grade football players is hanging back with his girlfriend who is totally reading him the riot act over something. He watches the familiar hands on hips stance change to arms crossed in annoyance back to the hips. Her ponytail whips around her face as she rolls her neck and screeches about how he doesn't 'respect her' and how he's a 'shitty excuse for a boyfriend' and how he's always ignoring her texts and pretending to be asleep when she calls. He could freaking recite it backwards from memory, it's so familiar. He knows it well. Hell, he knows the chick who _invented _that setup, and this little girl, as amusing as it might be, doesn't have _shit _on a fourteen year old Santana Lopez. And the poor little douchebag in front of her doesn't have a clue what's hit him. She screeches once more, telling him that he _better _sit with her at lunch _or else _and then storms off down the hall in a huff.

"Dude," he puts a halting hand on the kid's shoulder as he starts to head into the gym, "she's not worth it. Next year, she's gonna be even bitchier, and she's gonna have your balls so tight n her pocket that you're not even gonna remember what your dick is for. And then when you finally do, she's gonna give you a rash you _really _don't want. Got it?" He raises an eyebrow, and the kid looks surprised by nods uneasily. Thinking twice, he adds, "Don't tell anyone I said that," and then shoves him off toward the locker room.

He is _awesome _at this teaching thing.

He spends the next thirty minutes watching kids be lame at layups and wondering if Santana's back into dudes yet and if she's still got her piercing. Damn, that girl is hot, and he totally misses the hell out of that chick.

His team does pretty okay for the first part of the season. They're up four games to one, and they've got a pretty decent shot at finishing out the rest of the season nicely, too. He actually likes the football crap, but he isn't so much into the whole bus ride to away games with a bunch of rowdy kids who all think they're super hilarious and are really just pretty stupid.

He _especially _isn't into it one night when he ends up babysitting the cheerleaders because their coach is out with bronchitis.

If he thought the boys were annoying… They are a freaking _cake walk _compared to the girls. They spend the entire hour long bus ride screeching and giggling and occasionally arguing. There are too many of them, and he sits all the way up at the very front of the bus to keep from socializing them. He's well aware of the fact that he's supposed to be "chaperoning," but fuck it. This is what iPods were _made _for. He is ready to blow his damn brains out by the time they finally arrive at the school, but then it gets even worse.

There's still an hour until the game, and while his team is out on the field doing warm-ups, he's sitting in a locker room with fourteen bitchy ass teenage girls who are all irritated and bored at being made to wait. He thinks they should be warming up or something, but they're not like the cheerleaders he's used to. They mostly just twist their hips a little bit and do a few claps. He doesn't know how much warming up that will take, but he _knows _it ain't no Sue Sylvester shit.

So he's sitting there, bored out of his fucking mind, and fiddling with his phone when one of the brats says his name. He ignores her at first, but then she says it again. _"Mr. Puckerman!"_

He sort of glares at her and raises his eyebrows unenthusiastically. "What?"

"Next time you need to bring your guitar and entertain us." She bites back a little smile and tries to act like she doesn't hear the giggling that immediately breaks out.

_He _definitely hears it, though.

"What are you talking about, woman?"

"Well, you play the guitar, right?" She still looks way too pleased with herself, and he stares her down.

"Who told you that?"

"It's, like, on YouTube."

She pushes one single button on her phone, which really scares the crap out of him because that means she's got that shit on her favorites or something, but whatever. He reaches over and grabs it from her and sees his worst nightmare. There he is playing fucking "Crazy" acoustic, and he can tell from his eyes that he's probably half-stoned in that video. He doesn't even know whose account this is or who posted this, but the date on it is from six years ago. Still, _not cool._

"That's from like fifty years ago," he exaggerates, pushing her phone back into her hands. "Whatever."

"Well, it's not like you forgot how to play is it?" The same annoying little chick must really think she's throwing some game around or something. "It would make the time go _so _much faster. You could sing, too."

"F _that."_

"Mr. Puckerman?"

Jesus _Christ! _Another one is calling his name now, and he knows this one. She's a shit-stirrer, he's seen it in class. He doesn't even say anything, just stares at her.

"Is your girlfriend really in _Mamma Mia _on Broadway_?"_

"Hell no! That's lame." He rolls his eyes. "She's in _RENT."_

"I thought you didn't have a girlfriend!" Hannah Jackson sounds half-panicked as she blurts it out, and he would laugh if he didn't hate them all so much.

"Hey!"he snaps at no one in particular. "All you crazies, sit down." Most of them do, a couple just raise their eyebrows at him. He's not playing that. "Yo, Paris and Nicole. On the floor. _Now."_

They look at each other and then snicker before doing as he says and dropping to the ground. Somebody says, "_Who?" _but he ignores it.

"Now," he says once he's got them all corralled and momentarily zip-locked, "I just want to know why any of you little-" He cuts himself off quick trying to think of the right term that doesn't start with C. They all stare at him wide-eyed and anxious, just waiting for his name of choice. "_Girls," _he finally spits out, "_Little_ girls," he adds pointedly, "think _my _personal life is any of your freaking business."

He thinks he's got them for a second because all fourteen mouths stay shut and silent. But then the little brat who started it all throws her ponytail over her shoulder and says, "Because we're bored and shit."

He knows he sucks at this job because kids aren't supposed to start cussing around their teachers until at _least _high school.

"We totally want to see you play guitar," she adds, taking a sip from her water bottle in a way that she's _way _too young to know.

When he notices the seventh grader beside him totally eyeing the guns, he shoots her a warning death glare that causes her to go red and all the other girls to burst into giggles. He sighs loudly and rubs his eyes with one hand.

"Fuck my life…"

By the time they make it out to the field, he's one-hundred percent certain that he's going to be fired by the end of the game. Miraculously, he doesn't. Apparently creepy little girls are pretty loyal and don't go ratting him out. He knows, though, that he's totally going to have to let them cuss whenever they want to now.

It's freezing outside, and he's screaming at one of the tight ends for being a complete and total failure at life when his phone buzzes in his jeans. It's the requisite "intermission" text that comes every night. He grabs it to check it, and it's one of the _good luck with the game, I hope you guys win _kind. Nothing special, but it means something. He texts her back quickly and tells her to wait up for him.

They don't win the game. They lose by a field goal, and he totally blames the cheerleaders. He's never been more glad to be away from a bus full of chicks in his lifetime. They don't leave him alone on the way back like they did on the way down. He tells them to go away and fuck off when they started crowding his seat, but they refuse to budge until he finally gives in and lets them listen to Rachel on his iPod. ("She's okay," Molly Hamilton says breezily. "I mean I've heard better). It's almost midnight when he finally makes it home, which means it's almost one in New York. It's late but not _that _late.

"Did you win?" she asks on the second ring.

"Hell no," he says bitterly. "They played like shit tonight."

She asks him the score and asks him a few other details. He launches into the story about the cheerleaders from hell, and she cracks up as she admits that the video footage is totally her old YouTube account. He scoffs at her and tells her to take that shit down, but she just laughs some more and says she has no clue what the password would be.

He almost tells her it's probably ilovefinnhudson, but he doesn't.

"You should play for them!" she teases, and he isn't even the slightest bit amused.

"No, thanks. I don't need them to dial up the crazy even more. It's already creepy as fuck."

"Well, seriously," she's putting on one of her lecturing voices. "I know this is going to be a surprise to you, but most females _do _find you rather attractive."

She's boosting his ego, and he likes it.

"Yeah, everybody wants a piece of this, guess you're right."

She ignores him. "You just need to lay down some ground rules and let them know in _no _uncertain terms that they need to stop right now or there will be serious consequences."

"What consequences?"

"I don't know. Detention or whatever."

"I can't give them detention for checking out the guns. Baby, you know that shit's impossible to miss."

She laughs, and he's pretty sure it's a real laugh and not one of her sarcastic ones. "Well, when they start being wholly inappropriate, you need to put an end to it. They're being disrespectful."

"I'll just smack 'em around a little bit."

"Well, call me when you need bail money, I guess."

"That's right," he smirks to himself. "That's why I keep you around, suga mama."

She laughs, and he can practically see her rolling her eyes. The jokes like that are fairly common, but the truth is that he's never once let her buy him a damn thing- not even a plate of spaghetti. She makes good money, but she isn't going to spend it on him. That's why he'd rather skip out on his bills instead of accepting the plane tickets she's always offering to buy. And when they're together, _he _pays even if she rolls her eyes and mutters about him being such a stereotype. Whatever, he rolls old school when it comes to that shit.

When he tells her one of the chicks asked if she was in _Mamma Mia, _she gasps and lets out a disgusted, "Ew!" He laughs because, yeah, at least they agree on some things. Like ABBA fucking _sucks._

He realizes by December why kids get a full two weeks out at Christmas- it's because their teachers would fucking murder them if they had to keep them any longer. Kids at Christmas time are just whack, and every single day for the whole last week, he finds himself literally counting down minutes of the day. On the last day of the term, he's beyond glad to get rid of the brats and leaves the very same night for New York.

Two weeks of Christmas vacation means two weeks holed up in a tiny (and he _means _tiny) NYC apartment with the cutest little psycho he knows. The next day after he arrives also happens to be Rachel's birthday, and he's got her a little gold charm bracelet and lunch reservations at her favorite restaurant and plans to flat out charm the crap out of her until she has to go to work that night. It works well until about 10:00 when he takes her to breakfast, and she can't keep her freaking _hands _off of him. He's not going to blame her too much, of course, because he owns a mirror, and he knows what she sees. Plus, he _knows _she's hard up. He at least has the occasional casual encounter to keep him from going crazy, but Rach doesn't play that game. She's sleeping with exactly _one _person, and that one person spends the majority of his time a thousand miles away. So he gets it, and that's why they skip the post-breakfast coffee and head straight home. He spends the rest of the morning making her say words that are far outside her normal vocabulary, and when 3:30 rolls around, she's sleeping beside him and looking so sweet and beautiful that he doesn't want to wake her up and decides he'll just take her to her birthday lunch another day. That night, she gets home from her show with a piece of the cake her cast mates brought her and feeds it to him with her fingers.

Verdict? Her birthday is pretty dang awesome.

Those two weeks are amazing, and they spend just about every moment possible together. She's still working, of course, but she gets her Mondays off, not to mention Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. And New Year's Eve is rockin' in a way Dick Clark never intended. They do not do the ball drop in Times Square because Rachel flat out refuses. He doesn't really mind because that crowd is _stupid, _and there's really only one person he wants to ring in the new year with. But he has to be back at school on the second, and so he leaves her on New Year's day and heads back to home and real life.

And it _sucks._

Every time he sees her, he gets a little bit more confused, and he hates that. He knows he's not into defining her or them or whatever, but it's hard when every time he's with her for like five minutes, she feels way more like a girlfriend than a friend. And then after spending multiple days and even _weeks _with her, he starts forgetting that she's not. His girlfriend.

But he can't do that. Like literally _can't. _The second she becomes his girlfriend is the second he'll lose her for real. Because he can't deal with all that distance and having _no _chance of release. He'll fuck somebody else and break her heart, and then she'll end up hating him. He'd rather just not have her officially than not have her at all. At least this way he gets to hold onto her. He's not really scared of commitment, he's just scared of cheating. And he knows he will.

She's not in the dark about how things are now- she knows that he's not practicing celibacy or any shit like that. He doesn't lie to her and try to make her think otherwise or anything like that. She _knows _what the deal is, and maybe she wishes it wasn't like that, but she doesn't hate him for it. If she wanted to go out and get herself laid, he couldn't really say anything about it. He probably _would, _but he wouldn't have a right and he knows it. Rachel just doesn't get down like that. She's only slept with like three guys in her whole life, and he knows she's not randomly going to go out and start hooking up. Which is a good thing because he'd probably try to beat the shit out of any guy who touched her. Totally irrational obviously, but what the fuck ever.

In the spring, the principal of his school asks him if he wants to coach girls' softball.

His initial reaction should be something along the lines of… _hell no, I'm not coaching those crazy ass chicks, _but there's a $2500 bonus in it plus the chance to actually get a head coach title. So sure, something's better than nothing. If anything, maybe it's a step toward getting the baseball job when the sixty year old dude who's got it now kills over.

The girls are exactly like he expects them to be. They are annoying and whiney, and there are some who just won't fucking stop giving him the flirt eye, which is creepy as crap. And he's pretty sure that those six eighth graders who suddenly decided to join the team for the first time definitely aren't there for their love of the sort. Still, there are some other ones who aren't actually that bad. There are even a couple of really awesome ones who could totally have a real future in this stuff.

There's one little girl on his team named Megan who is sort of a total spaz and a complete control freak. She's not the most popular girl on the team, but there's something about her that he finds sort of endearing. So he watches as she freaks out on two of the outfielders for not paying attention, and he tries not to laugh.

But then he catches her crying in front of the school as she waits for her ride, and he drops down on the stairs beside her.

"Yo, Meg, what's crackin?" He raises his eyebrows at her as he jokes with her, knowing that a good dose of Puckerman charm can cure any girl's tears.

It doesn't work.

"I'm waiting on my dad," she says sullenly, wiping her tears quickly and avoiding eye contact.

"And you hate leaving school so much, you gotta cry about it?"

She scowls, and he half-expects her to start cussing him out or hitting him or something. She doesn't do either, but she says, "No, I hate those _girls."_

"Tell me about it…" he mumbles, and when she finally looks over at him, he flashes her a quick grin to get her feeling better.

It still doesn't work. "And they hate _me_," she mutters.

Okay, this is lame. He isn't into this whiney crap, but at least this girl's not like trying to get him thrown in prison or anything, which is more than can be said for a lot of her classmates. Plus, he figures even if this is totally stupid, it at least gives him a chance to try and hone in on that whole bettering kids' lives crap.

"You don't need to worry about what other people think," he tells her helpfully, at least he _thinks _it's helpful. Maybe not.

"I don't have any friends," she says, and even though she's not crying anymore, she really does look kind of miserable. "I mean, we're teammates, _they_ should at least be my friends!"

"Well, maybe try just like dialing it back a notch," he suggests gently. "Bossing them around isn't going to make them like you…"

"Softball's the only thing I'm good at!" Her eyes go a little wide, and her words go a little bit dramatic… "I just… I just want us to _win."_

God, he knows this chick.

"Look, kid. Snapping at them isn't going to make you any friends, and it's not going to make them care more about the game than their nails. Just dial it back a little bit, do _your _best, and then just be happy with that. You're awesome, they might just need awhile to figure it out."

It's simple advice on how to cure a little bit of crazy, but Megan sort of smiles like she actually hears him or some shit. Then her dad pulls up in a kickass Mercedes, and she jumps up with her backpack.

"Thanks, Mr. P!" she says, and he fist-bumps her one before she runs off to her dad's car.

After that, Megan starts getting a little bit more giggly around him, which _goddamn. _But whatever. She starts hanging out with a couple of girls on the team and seems overall happier, so he knows he's totally badass at his job.

Rachel calls him one afternoon in early April when he's leaning against the fence watching his girls run laps around the field. He almost doesn't answer it because he's actually supposed to be working, but they're doing five laps for basically being total bitches, so he's got some time.

"I need you to do me a favor," she says right after he answers. She cuts him off before he can even say it. "I'm not talking about _those _favors."

He laughs a little bit and keeps his eyes focused on the kids while he answers. "What's the favor?"

She doesn't say anything for a second, and he gets a little worried because she never _doesn't _say anything.

"Spit it out, babe. If you need help hiding a body, I'm your man."

"Did you get the wedding invitation?"

Fuck this. He already knows he isn't down for this conversation. Still, he's mildly curious. "What wedding?"

"Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury."

"He's _finally _locking that down?" Jesus, those two have been together forever already. He was beginning to think they were never going to tie the knot.

"Did you get your invitation?" she repeats, and he can hear her tone.

"I haven't checked my mail in a few days."

"We need to go."

"Oh, _hell _no, Rachel. I am not going to Lima for some lame-ass wedding. _Negative."_

"Noah," and this is her no-nonsense, do what I say or regret it voice. "We never go to Ohio. _Never."_

"Because that place blooooows."

"We can go for one weekend and at least make an appearance. We don't even know anyone anymore except for each other!"

"I said _run! _Not take a friggin' stroll through the park!"

"_What?"_

"Sorry, babe," he apologizes into the phone. "Got the brats doing laps."

"Noah, did you hear anything I said?"

"Yeah, you said you want to go to Shue's shindig, and I said fuck that. Did _you _hear anything _I _said?"

"We're going."

And of course they're going. She's got his balls in a fucking vice grip, and she knows it. Still, he can at least _pretend _to have a little bit of dignity.

"Babe-"

"Is that your girlfriend, coach?" One of those bitchy little eighth grade cheerleaders turned sudden softball player stops in front of him and smiles sweetly.

"Move it, Lolita," he warns, jerking his head in the direction that she's currently supposed to be running. She does but not before flashing him another scary as shit smile.

"Noah."

"Sorry, baby, I'm at work!" he says, lowering his voice as the majority of his kids run past him. "I've got about twenty little horny teenage girls who are trying to jump my bones and rape me with their eyes."

"_Noah." _That's the _this is your final warning _Noah. "We are going. Get off work."

"_Rachel."_

"I'll make it up to you, promise."

"How?"

"I don't know, but I will. Please just say you'll go with me. I don't want to go alone."

"What are you wearing?"

"I haven't planned anything yet, but probably just a sundress."

He rolls his eyes so far back in his head that he thinks they might disappear. "No, _now," _he says pointedly. "What are you wearing _now? _Make it up to me."

She doesn't say anything, and he prepares for the chewing out she's about to give him. He's used to it, and it amuses the crap out of him. He's absolutely shocked, though, when she says, "A towel. I just got out of the shower."

"Shit, Rachel." He backs into the fence and lowers his voice. She _never g_oes for this shit. He wasn't even being serious. "Did you dry off yet?"

"Yeah," she says lowly, "but I'm still a little wet."

He's literally stunned speechless for a good five seconds until she starts laughing. Bitch.

"See you in Ohio, sweetie!" She blows him a kiss into the phone and hangs up.

He doesn't even see her the whole first day he's in Lima.

He gets in on Thursday night, and her plane doesn't arrive until Friday morning. He wants to get her at the airport, but she's already told him that her dads want to because they haven't seen her in awhile and blah blah bullshit. Her coming home is epic because she _never _misses her shows. The very first time she ever missed was over a year into her performance, and she missed for the first time to go to St. Louis for his graduation. That's the only time she's ever been, but he knew it was super huge and meaningful because she takes her job _very _seriously. She's only missed three other shows since then, and they were all in the same weekend when she got food poisoning from eating some rancid rice from her favorite Chinese place. Other than that, she's been on stage every single day for over two years now (except for the Wednesday matinees where the understudies sometimes take over and on Mondays when the theatre is dark- what? He knows that shit, don't laugh. Comes with the territory of dating a star).

But yeah, she texts him when she lands and tells him she's on the way to Lima with her parents and asks him how things are going. And they're going just like he expects them to go- his mom is alternating between fawning over him and drilling him about every detail of his life, and his sister is being a total bitch. Sixteen year olds are apparently even worse than the fourteen year olds. For the most part, though, it's pretty dull. He doesn't call anybody or try to catch up because he doesn't really _know _anybody anymore, and he figures he'll get more than his fill of catching up at the shitfest he's expected to attend tomorrow.

The next morning, he goes to breakfast at her house, and it's actually not that awful. She's pretty open with her parents, so it's not like her dads don't know he's screwing their daughter, but they don't treat him like some miscreant or something, either. They don't threaten him or glare at him or do the things most dads do. They laugh with him and ask him about school and his job, and then they go off and do their own thing, while _he _does Rachel in her childhood bedroom. It's definitely the first time he's ever got to actually make magic happen in that room, and while he's obviously a mature adult now, he still feels a little bit smug at finally getting her naked in there.

They go to the wedding together but not in a super obvious way.

They arrive together, and they sit together, but they don't make a show of _being _together. Seeing as how they're both pretty cut off from Lima and everything to do with it, they haven't really broadcast their situation to any of their old friends. Finn knows they're in touch. And whoever he's told. But he's pretty much the only one either of them talk to, and they don't even talk to him too often. And they've certainly never delved into the whole fucking for two years thing. Not for any particular reason, but just because it's really none of his business.

They aren't the only ones of their old group there. Tina and Artie are there with a small child in tow. If any of their high school relationships was going to turn into forever, it was that one, but it's still weird to think that they have a kid and shit. Mercedes and Kurt come together because apparently they're still BFF and annoying as ever. Brittany brings her boyfriend who seems possibly stupider than she is, and Matt shows up by himself. Finn brings some blonde chick who won't let go of his hand for like five seconds. It's cool to see everyone, but he's over it in about ten minutes.

The reception isn't that bad, though. In fact, free alcohol and kick ass music isn't a terrible way to spend a Saturday night. They all spend the time laughing and catching up, and it's nice in a sort of awkward kind of way. Rachel's uncharacteristically quiet, though, which is definitely weird, but he thinks it probably has something to do with the way Mercedes and Kurt keep shooting her glances and then having wordless conversations with each other. He notices, and he knows she does. But she plants a fake smile on her face and jokes around with Britt while she empties several glasses of alcohol.

And Rachel's not really the best at holding her liquor.

Everything starts going downhill when she gets a little bit clingy and starts linking her fingers through his and whispering to him. She kisses him once, barely a kiss even, but everyone seems to notice. He tries not to let on that it matters or anything, but he can literally _feel _the questions. No one comes right out and asks, though- not at first anyway. Rachel drinks some more and has to pee, so she runs off to the bathroom, and he stands around talking to Matt who is suddenly the only person in the room who isn't annoying him.

But then Finn shows up.

He's dropped his girl somewhere and is obviously a bit drunk himself, but he's not wasted or anything. He joins the conversation by standing there and saying nothing until finally he can't seem to take it anymore.

"So. You're fucking Rachel now?"

Matt makes a beeline for the cake, and he's left alone with Finn who looks somewhere between pissed off and sad, but whatever. He's not into this conversation.

"Who gives a shit?"

"That's really fucked up." Finn is staring at him with a really hard sort of stare, and it's annoying as crap because 1) who the hell does he think he is? And B) what the hell is his problem?

"Why?" he asks back, and he's _not _going to be cornered or bullied by Finn freaking Hudson. "Because you dated her when you were like sixteen?"

"Yeah, that's exactly why."

"Man, get over it. She has."

"And also because you never gave a crap about her, but now she's famous and you want to show up and start screwing her?"

Okay, _what?_

"Man, fuck off."

"I'm serious."

"_I'm s_erious, dude. Fuck. Off."

He feels a tiny little hand slip into his, and Rachel shows back up all smiles. Well, her mouth is smiling, but her eyes look positively psychotic. She's obviously got her fair share of liquid courage, and she beams up at them both with sweet sarcasm.

"Oh, this is cute!"

"C'mon, babe," he says, never taking his eyes off Finn who now looks like he wants to throw a punch. "Let's bounce."

"Yeah," Finn breaks in, and he seriously really looks like he's about to cry or some shit. "Maybe you guys can run off and get married and not tell anyone, too. Or have a kid or something."

His eyes roll automatically, but Rachel's get really big, and she puts one hand on her hip defensive. "Excuse me?" she snaps, flinging her hair over one shoulder as her head jerks up. "What _exactly _is your problem?"

Oh, shit. Here it comes…

"My problem," Finn says back, glaring at her like she's just ripped his heart out or some crap, "is that you're actually falling for this crap!"

Okay, dude must _seriously _want to get knocked the fuck out.

Rachel's out for blood, though, and if he weren't so pissed off, he could probably get really hot from the way she lays into her ex-boyfriend. "You have _no _idea what you're talking about," she says sharply. "And don't you even for one _second _think you've got some right to put your nose in _my _business! You don't know me. You pretty much don't even _speak _to me anymore, so you are the _last _person who gets to make any kind of opinion about me and _my _life. You don't have any right whatsoever to say one damn _word _about what I do or who I choose to sleep with!"

There is a small part (okay, a slightly larger than small part) of him who has a feeling she's practiced this exact same speech in the mirror on multiple occasions. Her eyes are wide and seem be _daring _someone to challenge her. Finn obviously has nothing to say, and maybe it's because he's pissed off or maybe he doesn't think it's worth it or maybe Rachel's seriously finally breaking his heart. Whatever. There are tons of people watching now- everyone they know is glued to the scene, and so are several people he's never seen before in his life. It's a little bit embarrassing and a little bit hilarious.

"Noah," she says haughtily, though she doesn't release Finn from her death glare, "let's go home. I'm ready to go to bed."

He wants to laugh, but she doesn't give him the chance before she's pulling him toward the door. He can tell she's wasted because there's no way in hell she'd leave this place without first saying goodbye to the bride and groom if she was sober. He doesn't really give a crap, though, and Schue and Ms. P are probably half-horrified anyway. But whatever.

"Shit, girl, you've lost your damn mind," he hisses at her as she drags him along determinedly.

"I know, right?" She glances at him and starts laughing. He can't help it. He laughs, too.

"Dramatic much?" He just barely hears the muttered comment, but Rachel hears it loud and clear. She stops suddenly, gripping his hand so hard that he think she might go and break it. He's not even sure who said it really- if it was Kurt or Mercedes- but Rachel doesn't seem to care.

"Did you want something?" she snaps, and he sees a venom in her eyes that doesn't really get there too often. "Oh, how about my autograph? You can sell it on eBay!"

He's pretty sure his mouth actually drops open, and someone (Matt, he thinks) actually snorts. Rachel doesn't wait around for the rest of the responses. She drops his hand and marches out of the room with her eyes trained straight ahead, her heels clicking rapidly in the freaking _hottest _way ever. He knows everyone around him is shocked as hell, and wow, he is, too. But that's his girl, and he throws the group and sideways peace sign and runs after her.

He catches up to her in the parking lot, grabs her around the waist from behind, and picks her up to swing her around. "You are my fucking _hero, _dude."

She's covering her face with her hands when he sets her back on her feet. "Oh, my god, that was so _mean! _I was so _rude!"_

"You were so _awesome!"_

She lowers her hands, and she's smiling at him. It's a really wicked sort of smile like she's a badass and she _knows _it. He wants to drag her into the car and fuck her right there in the parking lot, but he's got a little bit more class than that (or at least _she _does), so he settles for grabbing her and kissing her tightly.

"I have to tell you a secret," she says breathlessly when she pulls away for a second. He looks at her questioningly, and she grins again before lowering her voice and saying, "I really fucking hate those people."

Verdict? This chick is his soul mate. _Dude._

She's drunk, like totally wasted, so he knows better than to take her home. Even if her dads are cool, no one likes their parents to see them shitfaced. So he takes her to _his _house instead.

His mom looks at them oddly when they come through the door, and he knows it's because Rachel has taken her shoes off and refused to put them back on. She's giggling in a really, really drunk way. And his face is still probably red and dazed because she totally tried to fucking go down on him while he was driving. And he would have let her, too, but she's completely drunk and he doesn't really trust her teeth not to betray him- he learned that lesson _long _ago when he was sixteen and couldn't tell anyone _how _his truck got wrecked. But that's how they arrive at his house, and all he can do is flash his mom a quick smile that hopefully lets her know it's just best not to ask.

Rachel, of course, runs up to her and hugs her and starts rambling on about how awesome it is to see her and how she totally needs to come to New York and how everything is so great and how even though she has no friends in Lima, it's great to come back and see the people who care about her- like his mom and her dads for example. Apparently his mom loves Rachel enough not to throw her off and tell her off for being so obviously drunk and loud. She just hugs her back and tells her that she's so happy to see her and that she really needs to work on getting back more often (and, of course, she needs to drag him along, too).

Knowing he needs to get her away before his mom starts pulling out fucking China patterns for the wedding reception, he grabs her hand and tugs her toward the stairs, kissing his mom's cheek for good measure. They make it upstairs, and instead of going straight to his room and taking her clothes off, she disappoints him by running down the hallway to his sister's room.

Jesus Christ, his dick hates him so _much _right now.

He follows her and finds her on Bekah's bed talking seventy miles a minute. Bekah looks amused, but she's like _in love _with Rachel, so he's sure she's eating that shit up. But that's not the fucked up part. No, the fucked up part is that some fucking punk-ass _douchebag _is laying sideways on the bed and watching them. This must be the elusive _Mark, _who although is fully clothed, is obviously plotting to get in his baby sister's pants because he's got her so fucking brainwashed that she can't talk about _anything _else.

And that shit? _No._

"Yo, Rach," he says, not even trying to hide his annoyance. "I need you."

She smiles brightly and gets up, but not before glancing at Mark and then back at Bekah. She gives her a very telling wink and a quick thumbs up. He wants to strangle her.

Once he's got her out in the hallway, though, he looks back in on his sister. "Rebekah, you _better _keep this door open. And hey, yo, douchebag!" Said douchebag looks up. "Try it, and I swear to fucking god, I will fucking dislocate your balls from your dick. Capiche?"

Bekah is going to _kill _him. She turns bright red and glares and immediately shrieks, "Oh, my god! _Mom!"_

Ha. Ha. Ha.

As much as he wants to believe otherwise when Rachel kicks his bedroom door shut and immediately reaches for the button of his pants, he's not about to let her actually _do_ anything.

"Babe, this house is full of people," he says, grabbing her wrists and kissing her forehead instead. The fact that they've just encountered every single one of them has made him come to his senses.

"We'll just be quiet!" she says eagerly, standing up on her toes to kiss him while he keeps a firm controlled grip on her hands.

He lets her at least get the kiss in and then he laughs. "Rach, you don't know the meaning of the word quiet in any sense or any situation." And that's the damn truth.

She pouts, but he tugs her down with him as he flops down on the bed until they're lying side by side facing each other. He finally lets go of her hands, and she immediately cradles his cheek as she leans in to kiss him again. He lets her. He's not _completely _stupid.

But then she goes all serious and gets this weird look on her face. He knows it's coming before she even says it. "I didn't mean to be that rude…"

He rolls his eyes. He knows that everything she said is exactly the truth and exactly what was going on inside her head the whole night and, hell, maybe for freaking _years _before that. The shit with Kurt and Mercedes was fucking epic as far as he's concerned because whatever, those two have totally been jealous of Rachel since forever and they've _never _been nice to her. She's always done a good job of covering it up, but obviously she cares about that stuff more than she's letting on.

"And I don't _hate_ them…" She blinks a couple of times. "I just don't know why they're so mean to me."

"Jealous, _duh." _He gives her a quick kiss. "Always have been and now more than ever."

"I don't hate Finn, either…"

Fuck his life.

"Finn's a jackass."

"I don't hate him," she repeats. "I just don't get why he never talks to me anymore or anything. It's like he doesn't even want to be my friend or something."

He closes his eyes for a second, seriously pissed off that he's about to defend _Finn. _Especially after the shit that just went down. But she looks miserable, and he hates it when she looks like that.

"Rachel." He takes her hand and pulls it up to kiss the inside of her wrist. She blinks at him. "He's probably just embarrassed…"

"Embarrassed of _what?"_

He slips his fingers through hers. "Look, I mean… He hasn't done much." He's not being an asshole, it's just the truth. Finn went to community college for two semesters and then dropped out to work construction and that's what he's still doing. There's nothing _wrong _with it, but he gets it. "And you're kind of intimidating."

Rachel leans up on one elbow and stares at him. He can't tell if she's pissed or not, so he sits all the way and plays with her hair a little bit. "I mean, out of everyone, you're the only one who's really got anything to write home about, you know?"

"He shouldn't be embarrassed."

He shakes his head. "No. But he probably doesn't really feel like much compared to you. Not when he's still here doing what he's doing, and you're off being a star and having _everything_."

He can't believe he's doing this. Taking up for Finn when a little part of him is still scared that Rachel wants him. But he doesn't want her feeling bad about herself, and he doesn't want to see her lips turned down and her eyes look so sad, either.

"I don't have everything," she says after a second, and she's laying on her back now looking up at him. He smoothes out some of the hair around her forehead and smiles down at her.

"What else do you want?" he teases. "A freaking crown? You're _amazing."_

He thinks he's joking with her, but she catches his hand and holds it to her chest. Her eyes are locked on his, and he doesn't have a fucking clue what's going through her head.

"I want _you," _she says quietly, and those crazy brown eyes blink up at him a few times as he stares at her. "I want you to live in New York with me and be my boyfriend."

He stares at her. He doesn't know what to say, so he goes with the easiest thing.

"Rachel…"

"Please." She sits up, still holding his hand, and she looks at him almost sort of pleadingly.

He doesn't know what to think or anything else. The only thing he _does _know is that she's still drunk. "Rach, you can't just say shit like that. You have to be serious." He's freaking _mumbling _because she's got his brain so fucked at the moment.

"I _am _serious." There's something in the way she's looking at him that thinks she might be telling the truth. A beat passes and then… "Noah, I think I'm in _love_ with you."

It's his turn to blink at her. He doesn't even notice when she drops her head forward and hides her face in his shoulder. He barely even hears her mutter, "Please don't freak out."

And for once in his life, he doesn't.

That's how he finds himself turning in his resignation after exactly one year of employment. The girls take it pretty hard when he announces that he won't be back the following year, but they'll live. Truthfully, he doesn't hate those kids as much as he pretends to, and there's a part of him (a tiny part) that knows he's going to miss them.

He spends the last part of the school year and the first part of the summer packing up his apartment, selling his car, and trying to figure out how to get his Missouri teaching license to transfer to New York. He also spends a hell of a lot of time applying for jobs and waiting on somebody to call him back. It seems like with 1,600 schools or whatever that they'd be a little bit more eager to get teachers in, but it turns out to be a big waiting game.

In July, he leaves St. Louis for good and heads to NYC.

He doesn't bring much with him. Yes, he is legit moving, but Rachel's already got everything, and her apartment is so tiny, it's not like he could fit a ton of stuff anyway. So really, he just brings his clothes, his DVDs, his music, and his guitar. Everything else is either sold or donated. He doesn't need it now.

It's obvious that they'll need to work on things as soon as he gets there. She gives him a whole d_rawer _in her dresser- yes one whole drawer- and pushes her clothes over so that he's got approximately a foot of closet space. She clears out half a shelf in her medicine cabinet, so he can put his toothbrush and razor away. Then she smiles brightly and gushes over how awesome it feels to have him "moved in."

Two and a half suitcases stay packed and stored under the bed.

But you know, other than the fact that he's living out of his duffel, things are pretty sweet. It's even better than he thought it was going to be- waking up beside her every single morning and knowing that he doesn't have to board a plane in a few hours. She can't get enough of him, either. Not that he's surprised, of course, but it sure doesn't hurt his ego to have her waking him up at four o'clock in the morning to get down with it. And he loves cooking breakfast with her and snuggling up for midnight movies on the couch. This playing house thing is pretty awesome.

He finally gets a job two weeks before the start of the school year and starts learning how to make the morning commute to Brooklyn in the easiest route possible. It sucks because the start of the school year means returning to the real world where he can't stay up all night with his hot girlfriend and spend the afternoons running with her in the park. But he has to have a job, and he should probably just be thankful to get one. But it still sucks.

Labor Day comes and goes, and he finds out that the kids in New York are pretty much exactly like the ones in St. Louis. They just speak a lot more languages… The school itself, though, is totally different, and it takes some time getting used to the fact that there's not actually a _gym _to teaching PE in. The food there is awful, too. But whatever, there's some cool shit, too- like the fact that they close for Yom Kippur and get paid for it, which he thinks is totally awesome.

It really doesn't take too long to fall into a routine.

But by the end of the month, Rachel has decided she's done with _RENT _and needs to do something different. He's shocked at first because she really, _really _loves that show. She's been doing it for three years, and she's one of only four members of the opening cast that are still left. She says she's not going to just up and quit but that she wants to start auditioning again, but she knows it'll probably take months at least for her to land another role. She says she just wants to put herself out there.

She lands the very first audition she goes on.

She has no idea how it happens, and she claims it must just be luck. Obviously, though, getting auditions and getting roles is a lot easier when you're already established. He knows it sure as hell didn't happen this easy for her the first go around, and she can't even seem to believe that it does _this _time.

But she books an audition, goes on three call backs, has two meetings with the producers, and then literally accosts him the second he gets home.

"Oh, my god, I got it!" she screeches, throwing her arms around his neck and literally squeezing him to death. "I'm going to be in _Les Miz! _This is one of my _dreams, _Noah!"

Another revival. Apparently she's got a knack for them. _Les Miserables _is coming back to Broadway, and she lands what is apparently a really huge deal in her head and gets in.

"I'm going to be _Eponine!"_

He stares at her. "What the hell kind of a whack-ass name is Eponine?"

Her mouth drops open and she actually gasps at his gall before glaring at him and snapping, "What the hell kind of a whack-ass name is _Puck?"_

"Touche, lover."

God, he loves when she goes all corrupted and shit. Totally hot.

"You need to be excited about this," and she says it in a way that lets him know that he _better _be excited or suffer the consequences.

"That's awesome, babe!" he says (and actually kind of means it because she looks so damn excited). "I'm happy for you!"

Her complete mental breakdown happens little by little.

She leaves _RENT _and cries through the entire finale and curtain call of her last show. She gets lots of flowers and gets to make a little speech. Her dads come, and she even forces him to invite his mom and Bekah. He hugs her later, and she literally cries all night long. It's sort of weird, but she _has _been doing it awhile, so he gets it. But that's just the start.

Rehearsals begin for _Les Miz, _and he seriously cannot believe how much fucking _time _goes into this shit. He doesn't even _see _her for like whole days sometimes. She's in intensive vocal workshops and costume fittings and staging rehearsals all damn day for _weeks. _She's starting to lose her damn mind, and he can't really say he's surprised. The kind of shit she's got herself into would turn anyone psycho probably. Plus, she's already got a fairly good basis, so it's not like it would take a lot….

She cries all the time now and constantly drones on and on about how she's not good enough and how she's so freaking _tired _and why won't he take his eyes away from the TV for five seconds and just _listen _to her? He's always known she was a little bit crazy, but in the familiar groove of her previous life, she was at least sort of mellowed out. Throw something new at her, though, and apparently she's back to being as psychotic as she was as a teenager. Except worse because now he can't hide from her.

In all honesty, he sort of digs _RENT._

It's cool and upbeat, and he saw it a million times while she was in it. In fact, he's pretty sure he could recite the whole damn thing. He's used to it, and he doesn't find anything homosexual about it (besides the lesbians and the gay dudes and all that shit, but whatever, it's cool). It's actually not a bad show.

_Les Miserables _is a whole other story.

First of all, he's got no clue what it's about. Rachel tries explaining it a million times, but he starts zoning out after about the first sentence. He grabs onto key words, though, like prison, prostitutes, and war… But the rest is just a blur. He hears her practicing her music and sees her trying to "zone" into her character, but he's not really that into it.

She won't let him come to any of the rehearsals or even any of the previews. She tells him that she wants him to see the show opening night when they've got it perfected and assures him he's going to love it and that it's going to be _magical._

She totally lies.

On opening night, he finds himself once again sitting with her parents in a theatre that's sold out and packed full of people who are way too important to sit in the same room with people like him. It's sort of really cool, and he's actually really excited. It's also kind of cool to see Rachel in a brand new Playbill, not to mention that she totally shouts him out, which is awesome.

But then the show starts.

All that crap she tried to tell him about…. The prison shit turns out to be some old dude trying to run from the cops. The prostitutes… Those are some nasty ass hookers with really stupid clothes. The so-called war is way more singing than fighting. And seriously? After awhile, he starts to think this whole thing is a trick, and Rachel isn't even _in _this damn play. The only thing he knows for sure is that he is _way _too ADD for this shit.

But then she finally shows up. _Finally._

And even this shit doesn't make sense. That dude she's in love with is an idiot because Rachel is _way _hotter than that other chick even if she _is _dressed pretty awful. Plus, that other chick is just annoying as crap. But whatever. It's more singing and more singing and _more _singing. Them some more war shit. Then some more singing…

Then finally intermission.

And if he wasn't totally in love with that girl, he would _so _be hitting the door. As it is, though, he sits there with her dads and listens as they talk about how amazing the show is and how it's so moving and powerful, and holy shit, he tunes them out almost as easily as he does their daughter.

Then lights down and more singing and more singing and more singing… And then Rachel totally stops the fucking show. Seriously. He's heard her sing "On My Own" probably a million times over the past few weeks, but hearing it in their apartment is _nothing _like hearing it in this huge theatre where there's seriously like complete and total _silence. _He swears that no one even _moves _while she sings, and then when she's finished, he can't even believe how freaking _loud _it gets when they cheer for her.

Yep, totally. She's awesome.

But then she dies, and he's like what the fuck? Because seriously? _Boo this._

He spends the rest of the show trying not to fall asleep until she shows back up at the end, and he totally doesn't know whether this is some zombie shit or if he actually _did _pass out and miss something. But whatever. At least it's the end.

People scream for her during curtain calls and get on their feet. She's the first one in the cast who gets a standing ovation, and everyone loves her. He kind of digs her, too, so it's cool.

But this show? _Blows._

When he sees her after the show, though, she comes flying at him and hugs _him _before she hugs her dads. She asks him what he thought of the show, and he tells her, "Babe, it was _amazing!"_

Later, after they've left the premiere party and dropped her dads off at their hotel, she takes his hand as they walk up the stairs to the apartment.

"You have no idea what happened in the show, do you?"

He can't help but smile at her. "Not a fucking clue."

She laughs and just squeezes his hand more tightly. "That's okay. There's a lot to take in. You'll get it after a few more times."

_Double _fuck his life.

They have a pretty good life in New York. He thinks it's probably the best deal he could have gotten, and he's glad he finally went for it and made her his one and only. They have their ups and downs, though, and there are days when he totally wants to kill her. Then there are those days when she literally has to _force _him out of bed because he wants to keep her there all day. And there are also days when he realizes he's been doing but staring at her sleep because she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

They break up in December.

It's a stupid fight that starts about the toaster and ends with her telling him to get out. Somewhere in the middle there, he _may _have told her she was fucking psychotic and needed to be admitted to a mental hospital because she was batshit… but he's kind of fuzzy on the details. Regardless, she tells him to leave and tells him she's done and that he's an asshole and that she doesn't want him around anymore. He tells her to go fuck herself, grabs some clothes, and checks into a hotel.

He is _miserable._

He can't sleep without her. The bed is too big and too cold, and he wants her curled up behind him with her face pressed into his back. He wants to hear her babble on about nothing for hours on end, and he wants to smell her perfume in the bathroom. He wants _her._

He buys a full-price ticket to her show and sits in the audience alone just so he can see her. He thinks it's the best performance he's ever seen her do, and part of him feels fucking terrible because he knows that the pain she's supposed to feel on stage is probably partially real and that it's all his fault. He sends her a text message and tells her he's sorry, and she doesn't reply.

Two days later, he's hung over and miserable and knows he can't take it a second longer, so he goes home.

He finds her sitting on the bed in her underwear, strumming mindlessly on his guitar with tears streaming down her cheeks. He thinks it's a cross between the sexiest and the _saddest _thing he's ever seen in his life. She doesn't look at him, and he doesn't say anything when he goes over and sits behind her. He just moves his arms around her and places his hands over hers. Then he guides her fingers over the strings until they're playing her song- the very first one he ever wrote for her.

And then they just sit there in silence and say nothing.

He puts his lips against her shoulder and places a kiss there. When she doesn't pull away, he places another one against her neck and lets his lips stay there for a second before he pushes some hair away from her face and puts his lips to her ears to whisper, _"I love you," _for the very first time.

She doesn't move, and he doesn't, either, for awhile. But then he gently takes the guitar from her and sets it aside. He tells her he loves her a million more times that night, but the words don't have to cross his lips. She can tell, and he knows it. And he realizes real fast that the only place in the world he wants to be is _right here. _

Twenty-two was a good year. But maybe twenty-three and twenty-four and even twenty-five, twenty-six, and maybe even fifty will be better as long as he gets to stay right here.

As far as he's concerned, the whole rest of the world can fuck off. Because now that he's finally got the girl, he knows better than to let go.

…**..**

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Feedback is always appreciated!


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